


two sugars

by Greenflares



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:39:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenflares/pseuds/Greenflares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The barista keeps getting Jean's name wrong. Eren knows his pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two sugars

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take at the classic coffee shop au trope. I don't even drink coffee.

Jean was tensed for the inevitable.

“Cappuccino for John,” Frank called, holding the Styrofoam cup above eye-level and scanning the crowded coffee shop, “I got a cappuccino for John!”

And there it was. He let out a sigh of built up frustration and general all-round annoyance that startled the customers near him into taking a few hesitant steps back.

“It’s _Jean_ ,” he called, starting for the counter, “I don’t know how many times I’ve corrected you about this, but it’s getting pretty ridiculous.” The whole thing was creating a lot of resentment within him, especially towards his name and his mother for giving it to him – why couldn’t she have just named him something _normal?_

Frank the barista, as frumpy and middle-aged as ever, met his irritation with a dead-eyed gaze. “You want the cappuccino or you wanna complain a little more, huh?” he asked wearily.

“Both,” Jean said, “but first let me tell you something.” He jabbed an accusatory finger at Frank’s bright name tag and declared, “You’ve had it too easy, Frank. You’ve breezed through life with a name so pedestrian that no barista in the world could ever hope to butcher it.”

Frank blinked at him apathetically. Jean wondered how many others had been victimised by him and how many had dared fight back.

“Please,” Frank sighed, “just take the cappuccino.” He pushed the cup against Jean’s chest insistently. “I have a dozen more orders to make and I don’t have the time for this.” He gave Jean a withering look, as though Jean was somehow the criminal here.

“Fine,” he said, glowering at him as he accepted the cup, “but I promise you that if you call me John again I’ll – I’ll go to the Starbucks across the road instead.”

It didn’t matter; Frank had already turned back to the coffee machine.

Jean huffed angrily before he turned on his heel and stalked over to his favourite table in the over-packed coffee shop. He liked it by the heating vents where there was always a warm breeze that made the napkins on the tabletop flutter and the hair on the top of his head shift and wave. It was a good seat, really, and not only because of the temperature. His table was in the far corner of the room where no one bothered him.

He sipped at the cappuccino – cursing the gods and himself because Frank, that asshole, actually made a really good drink – and pulled his satchel on to the tabletop, tugging his laptop out and getting organised. He was currently trying to be a screenwriter and he felt that the coffee shop atmosphere was very conductive to good screenwriting. Sure, he hadn’t written anything yet, but it was just a matter of time, really.

As his laptop booted up he turned the coffee cup around in his hands until the word _JOHN_ stared back at him, written in thick black marker. The first time it happened he’d taken a photo of the mistake and sent it to Marco, finding it almost amusing. In fact he’d even chuckled about it later that night as he brushed his teeth before bed. Now, though – now he visited the coffee shop practically every day, and despite his constant attempts to correct Frank’s mistake there was no change. In fact, if anything, Frank now wrote the wrong name in even bigger letters. Jean was starting to wonder if maybe he had some kind of legal case against the store, or at least against Frank—

“Hey,” said a voice, “everywhere else is full. Mind if I sit here?”

Jean looked up with narrowed eyes just in time to see the other guy pull back the chair and sit down, all without waiting for a response. He was too busy balancing his coffee as he rifled through his briefcase to be polite, Jean assumed. What was happening to the world?

“Sure,” he grumbled, “make yourself right at home.” He shifted himself uncomfortably and glanced down at his laptop – _was now really the time to be installing updates, Windows?_

Jean looked sideways out of the window to keep himself occupied. It was raining outside, big, thick sheets of rain that hit the ground like gunfire. People ran for cover as they went about their day. Jean’s shoulders and hair still felt damp from his quick dash into the store, but he knew after a few minutes under the heating vents he’d be –

The other guy pushed Jean’s laptop to the side. “Sorry,” he said, “d-do you mind?”

Jean looked at him and this time the guy looked back. He was watching Jean for some kind of a yes or no response, he supposed, but he’d already done it. What point was there in asking for permission?

The guy wet his lips. “It’s just--” He gestured to his briefcase and the paper that was flowing out of it. This man, unlike Jean, was busy.

“Sure,” he allowed, and the guy smiled at him. It was a nice smile, all things considered, but the guy was still a dick.

“Crazy day today, huh?” he asked conversationally as he spread his papers across two-thirds of the small table. Jean’s laptop sat precariously on the edge, almost toppling into his lap. He gestured towards the window with his shoulder. “It’s really coming down.”

“Yeah,” Jean agreed. “It’s raining.”

They were quiet for a moment, the other guy ruffling through his papers looking stressed and Jean waiting for his laptop to finish installing updates. Jean watched him as secretively as he could; the guy had dark hair and light eyes and was wearing an expensive suit that really needed ironing. As he flipped through his work he wore a crease between his brows and his lips tugged downwards. He took a shaky sip of his coffee and Jean read the name _AARON_ that was scrawled in Frank’s familiar hand across the cardboard sleeve.

He glanced at his laptop – _installing updates…_ \-- and then looked back to the stranger – to Aaron.

“So, Aaron,” he said lamely, already kicking himself for opening his damn mouth, “you’re a… business man?”

Aaron looked up in surprise, blinking with his bright, wide eyes. “My name’s not Aaron,” he said bemusedly, “why did you--?”

Jean wanted to fling himself through the glass window. Death by glass impalement sounded better than this awkward socialisation. “It says it on – on your coffee.” He gestured at the cup.

Then he realised.

“Frank?” Jean guessed with a wince. _Frank strikes again._

He nodded with a weary Frank-induced sigh. “My name’s actually Eren. E-R-E-N. It’s – it’s unusual, I guess.”

Jean rotated his own cup so that the offensive _JOHN_ was visible. “I’m Jean. J-E-A-N. We’re in the same boat.”

Eren leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Isn’t it _annoying?_ ” he said empathetically.

“He does it every time I come in here,” Jean said, nodding vehemently. “It’s like – I’m starting to think he does it on purpose, y’know? Like, just to fuck with me?”

Eren nodded and wriggled a little closer. “Same!” he cried. “I’ve told him a dozen times that I’m not Aaron but he just--”

“Just does it again the next time!”

“Exactly!”

“I’m thinking of taking him to court, actually,” Jean revealed. His was smiling now, smiling to the point that it made it hard to speak.

Eren’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Yeah?”

“I mean, yeah, this has to be some kind of breach of our basic human rights,” Jean figured, and Eren laughed.

Eren tipped his head back as he laughed, just enough that Jean could see the sharp white of his teeth and the length of his throat. Jean watched him, chuckling weakly as a front for his subtle observation. There was something about this guy – a kind of energy that Jean wanted to lean into.

“I’ve been coming here every day for about a month,” Jean told him, “why haven’t I seen you before?” Surely he’d have noticed him already; there was no way someone like this walked by unnoticed. It was a crime.

Eren was still smiling when he shrugged. “I’m here on my lunch break from work,” he answered, “so usually I just grab a coffee and drink it outside. But, you know…” He looked to the windows, to the soaked landscape outside. People were running past with their coats hiked up over their heads to keep them dry, and Jean shivered in the warmth. “Do you work around here?” Eren asked.

Jean took a big gulp of his coffee and swallowed it despite the burn. “No,” he croaked, eyes watering from the pain on his tongue, “I – I come here to write.”

“Oh, you’re a writer?” His eyebrows were thin lines by his hairline.

“Well.” He didn’t want to go into it. “What about you?”

Eren’s shoulders slumped and his eyes fell back to the paperwork around him. “I’m in marketing,” he sighed morosely. “We’re having a launch party tonight, one that I helped plan.” He flipped through his papers aimlessly, lost amongst the noise of it all. “It’s been chaos. That’s why I’m having extra strong coffee today.” As though he’d just reminded himself he took a sip from his drink. “I’m really not looking forward to it.”

Jean had never met someone who wore a suit to work before, and he’d definitely never been to a launch party either, but he thought he could see why one might be considered painful.

“Take a friend with you,” he suggested. At Eren’s faint frown of confusion he explained, “Boring parties are always better when you have a friend with you.” He’d lost track of the number of birthday parties he’d dragged Marco to, but it had reached the stage that whenever his nieces or nephews turned a year older Marco now received an invitation in the mail as well.

Eren seemed to weigh Jean’s advice carefully. “That’s a good idea,” he said.

Jean had only just met Eren – and in a coffee shop, no less – but he had never been so thoroughly enthralled by a person before. Everything about him made Jean want to know more, from the bite-mark scar on his wrist, almost hidden under his sleeve, to the fine specks of coloured paint that had found their way on to his briefcase. There was something about him – something magnetic – that wouldn’t let Jean go.

“What do you think about ice sculptures?” Eren asked after a moment. His head was cocked thoughtfully as he watched for Jean’s response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person,” he answered hesitantly. “Who – who has ice sculptures? Who does that?”

Eren got out a pen and drew a line through something on one of his sheets of paper. “I knew it was excess,” he muttered to himself. “Okay, so, what about flower arrangements? If we don’t have an ice sculpture we have to have something else in its place.” He looked at Jean expectantly.

“Flowers are good,” Jean decided. He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his chin thoughtfully. “I think flowers are a pretty safe bet.”

“I’m perfectly happy with safe bets,” Eren told him, ticking something else on the paper. Jean could see the stress held in his shoulders, the worry caught between his brows. “This launch had better go off without a hitch or I might actually die from the stress of it all.”

Jean watched him scan through the papers and smiled quietly. “I’m sure it’ll go fine,” he said. He’d only just met him, but he knew.

Eren twisted his wrist to peer at his watch. “I can’t think of anything worse than going back to work right now,” he sighed. He took a long gulp from his coffee and swirled the cup a little, listening to what remained. Jean sat a little straighter, desperate to cling to what little time they still had. _I don’t even know this guy_.

Elsewhere in the store Frank was calling, “Latte for David, I got a latte for David!” Someone dropped a fork on the floor. The door chimed as more people walked in.

“It’s been really nice meeting you, Jean,” Eren said as he started piling his things back into his briefcase. “I really have to run, though. It’ll take me twice as long to get back in this rain.” He moved slowly, caught in slow-motion. He finished what was left of his coffee and wiped his mouth with his hand, an action that Jean’s mother had always taught him was rude. Jean smiled in spite of it all.

“It’s been nice meeting you too, Eren,” he said. His voice was wavering and false. He tried frantically to think of a way to get Eren to stay, or to – to get his number, or _something_.

Eren pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “I hope we see each other again,” he said. There was a new quality to his voice and it sounded familiar in Jean’s ears.

Meeting again at the coffee shop wasn’t a date or a phone number, no, but Jean would take what he could get. “Definitely,” he said, “of course. You know where I’ll be.” He patted the tabletop stupidly.

 _Christ,_ he thought, _Christ what am I saying? Do something. Get his number. Don’t let him go._

Eren squinted outside at the rain and sighed, steeling himself for it. “Well,” he said, “bye.”

Jean echoed the sentiment. “Bye.”

He watched as Eren turned and left, swinging his briefcase by his side. He ducked and weaved through the waiting crowd by the counter and left with a chime from the doorbell. Jean leaned close to the window and watched him jog across the road and disappear around the corner. _Gone_.

It didn’t matter, really. They’d only talked for ten minutes, probably not even that, and by the end of it all they still didn’t even know each other. Whatever Jean had felt – _energy, electricity, magnetism_ – was all wishful thinking; he needed to listen to Marco and start dating again.

“Hot chocolate for Annie,” Frank called, “I got a hot chocolate for Annie!”

Jean wasn’t going to get any work done – he hadn’t even touched his laptop the entire time he’d been there. He drained what remained of his coffee before he shut his laptop closed, not bothering with the updates, and started jamming it back into his satchel. He began planning what he’d tell Marco, or if he’d tell Marco anything at all. _So,_ he’d say, _I kind of fell in love in a coffee shop today –_

“Sorry,” said a voice, and Jean got to his feet so abruptly that his thighs hit the table and the napkin holder toppled over, “I forgot something.”

Eren was there. His hair was slicked to his forehead and rain dripped down his face, leaving fat, wet drops on the tabletop and carpet. His expensive suit needed more than an iron now. He gasped a little as he struggled to regain composure, breathless from the jog back. He took Jean’s coffee cup and a pen from his pocket.

“This is my number,” he said, carefully penning it below the large _JOHN_. He handed the cup back to Jean and said, “Will you come with me to the launch party tonight? You can see the flower arrangements yourself and decide if the whole thing’s a disaster.”

Jean stared at him and watched a rivulet of water run from his hair until it disappeared beneath his collar, making him shiver. Jean wanted to reach out and see if his skin was cold. He wanted to catch the water that clung to his eyelashes.

Nervousness struck Eren then – a visible affliction. “I mean,” he continued, “it doesn’t have to be a date if – if you don’t want it to. We can go as friends! Or, y’know, you don’t have to go at all. But I really--”

Jean shook his head and silenced him. “No,” he interrupted in a shaky voice, “no, a date is – that’s fine. That’s more than fine. It’s – yeah. _Yeah_ , of course, I’ll go with you.” God, he could faint. He was lightheaded and dizzy and he was going to faint.

Eren grinned at him and Jean grinned helplessly back, their happiness infinitely reflected between them. “Okay,” Eren said, “cool. Yeah! Message me and I’ll send you the details.” He glanced over his shoulder then said, “I really gotta go for real this time, I’m kind of already running late--”

“It’s okay, that’s fine. I’ll – I’ll see you tonight, then.” He thought he might break from the joy of it all. It had all happened so suddenly – like a strike of lightning, or a shock of electricity.

Eren wavered on the spot, torn between two opposite directions, and then just as Jean thought he was about to run for the door he stepped forward and, with a hesitant glance at Jean’s expression _(it’s okay)_ , he pressed a kiss to his cheek, just at the corner of his mouth. His lips sent shivers across Jean’s skin and through his veins.

“Bye,” Eren whispered and then he was gone, his smile trailing after him.

Jean found he didn’t really mind _JOHN_ so much when Eren’s phone number was scrawled underneath it.


End file.
